Yet through all, and sometimes hiding these changes temporarily—but in the same way that a cloud can obscure the direct light of the sun’s rays but cannot stop its effect—was an innocent and childlike exuberance, whose zest and irrepressible spirit made her the perfect companion for the animated and energetic little toddler. Just when one of her fellow servants was puzzling over the apparent transformation in her, she would scamper down the hall behind her charge, her voice ringing out in unreserved girlish laughter, causing the observer to mutter to himself, “What was I thinking? It’s only our same little Jamie after all!”
Spring soon came to Aviemere. Jamie found herself aching for a tramp over the countryside. A crisp day toward the end of March dawned bright and fair, and, notwithstanding the moisture that would still be bound in the soil and grass in the lower places, she bundled up Andrew, donned her own coat, and set out upon her favorite springtime expedition—discovering the first blossoms of spring.
She had asked the cook to prepare a lunch for the two of them, and they now stopped by the kitchen, then exited through the scullery door and walked across the clipped lawn toward the north where lay low hills and meadowland. They were walking past the stables when Edward walked out into the sunlight and hailed them.
“I say, a bit chilly to be out, isn’t it?” he said.
“Good morning, Mr. Graystone!” replied Jamie. “And to answer your question—perhaps, but we are well bundled, and the sun was so bright we couldn’t resist.”
“And Andrew! What are you up to this magnificent spring day?”
The boy raced up to his father and Edward scooped him into his arms.
“Papa,” said Andrew. “Hunning fowers!”
“Oh,” said the father in a long-drawn, knowing tone, casting upon Jamie a look instead that spelled confusion.
“We’re out looking for the first flowers of spring,” she explained.
“I see,” he said, setting the boy on his feet. “Well, have a delightful time of it! By the way, there is a lovely meadow on the other side of the orchard. I used to go there all the time, but I haven’t seen the place in years. I shouldn’t wonder, in fact, if it’s all overgrown by now.”
“We shall try in that direction then, and give you a report on its condition.”
“Papa, come!” urged Andrew.
“Well, I don’t know . . . MacKay and I—”
“Papa, come!” insisted the boy, taking his father’s hand and tugging on it as forcefully as he could.
“I wouldn’t want to encroach upon your plans.”
“Nonsense! You’d be most welcome,” Jamie replied. “And I scarcely think Andrew will take no for an answer!”
Turning it over for a moment in his mind, Graystone came to what appeared to be a sudden resolve, told them to wait a moment, disappeared into the stable, and had a word with MacKay; he soon returned with his coat, and within five minutes the three of them were tramping across the fields toward the meadow he had spoken of. The green grasses were a refreshing sight after the stark white cover of the winter’s snows. The chill in the air was a springtime chill, and thus imbued with the promise and fragrance of coming summer, altogether unlike the chill of autumn which portends snow and darkness and death.
For a time flowers were forgotten as Andrew took off wildly through the grass, climbing on every rock he could find, hiding behind clumps of gorse. It was not until she fell down breathless in the grass, sides aching with laughter, finally having caught the hysterical child in her arms, that Jamie remembered the original purpose of their outing.
“Look!” she exclaimed. “Goat’s beard.”
“Yes, it is,” said Edward, who had just come up behind them, and now bent over to have a look.
“Fower!” chimed in Andrew.
“Come on, it’s just a little farther!” said Edward excitedly. Suddenly his mind recalled those sweet days as a boy roaming over these very fields, discovering the joys of Aviemere. “The burn’s not far! As I recall there are always fine specimens over there.”
He led the way, and they traipsed through the grass for another ten minutes, occasionally running to keep pace with Andrew, until they reached their destination. The burn, peat-brown and swollen with winter runoff, frothed and bubbled within its banks as it made its way to the valley and thence northward to join the Don, when its waters would then make their way east and reach the sea just north of Old Aberdeen.
Though she did not fully realize it, these amber-colored waters were from the same burn that Jamie had loved years ago upon Donachie. Yet even as she stared into its churning waters as they tumbled past, the sight infused the joyous day with a flicker of melancholy as she thought of her dear home on the grand heights of the mountain. She looked away westward and saw it now as only a dim silhouette against the sky, a cloud overhanging its uppermost reaches. Snow still clung to the mountain in most places, and even the white in the distance brought lovely images to Jamie’s mind. She recalled the afternoon she had found the lovely pure white face of the starry saxifrage peering out from a mound of snow in the crevice between two rocks. As always with such memories, the face of her beloved grandfather rose in her mind’s eye, beloved more and more as she now grew better able to understand the faith he had taught her before her mind and emotions had been old enough to grasp the depth of its reality. And with the thought of his face came pictures of the cottage, the sheep in the dell, the crude grave marker she had fashioned . . .
“Do you miss your home?” came Edward’s voice into the midst of her reverie.
A hint of color rose in her cheeks at being caught so far from the present.
“Aye,” she answered soberly. “I’ll never be able to forget it.”
She paused, still reflective. Then suddenly another look came over her face.
“But—how did you know?” she said. “I didn’t tell you about Donachie, did I?”
“No,” he laughed. “But I like to know my people. One day it dawned on me where I’d heard your name before. I had a little talk with my factor.”
“Ah,” smiled Jamie. “So Mr. Ellice has been giving away the secrets of my past!”
“Nothing so dark as to cause you any concern, I assure you. In fact, I would say it’s a past to be proud of.”
“I suppose I am, in a way. Perhaps I’m not as prepared for life as a maid or a nurse for having spent so many years doing little more than living in the hills and caring for my sheep. And I wish I had more refinement. Sometimes I feel so lost in the midst of the least hint of what you would call society.”
She stopped, thought a moment, then laughed.
“What is it?”
“I was just thinking of how out of place I feel in, as I said, society—among real ladies and gentlemen. That first day I stumbled into the east parlor with Andrew, and you were with your friends.”
“The Montroses.”
“Yes. I was so mortified!”
“You had no reason to be! You had hardly been here two weeks.”
“I felt so foolish, so out of place!”
“You handled yourself just fine.”
“You consider my eavesdropping outside the door behaving with proper decorum!”
“Well, that is true!” Now it was his turn to laugh.
“And to be caught by—if you’ll excuse me—the laird, so red-handed! But yes,” she said, diverting the conversation back into its former path, “I am thankful for my heritage, my upbringing, even if I am now alone. Because I am not alone! Since I have been living life with the Lord more close to my heart, He has given me a great thankfulness for all that has happened. I see all the events of my life fitting together into His plan for me, even though the various pieces by themselves can at times be very confusing.”
Graystone looked upward at the peak of Donachie shrouded in cloud and mist. “It is difficult to imagine that you were raised there. I’ve always thought of it as such a harsh, even wild place. As I always considered its main tenant, Finlay MacLeod
—though I’m now sorry to say I never did meet him.”
“Yes, there is a wildness about Donachie. It can be harsh and unforgiving, too. And some would, I suppose, say that I was no less wild. But my grandfather—I never thought of him like that. And he was everything the mountain was. Yes, I do miss it.”
“Would you like to ride up to Donachie some time? I could arrange for a horse . . . and someone to accompany you.”
“I don’t ride,” answered Jamie with a laugh. “We had no horse, and I never had occasion to learn. And if I were to try, I would never trust myself to guide a poor animal over that rough and rocky ground. Perhaps I might walk up . . .”
Then she grew pensive once more. “But I don’t know if I could go back—just yet.”
“I understand.”
“It is a silly notion, if you think of it, to be afraid of the past. I mean, is God any the more able to lead us forward than back? I trust Him for my future; why not with my past? Is His protection going to differ depending on the direction in time in which we travel?”
“Very thought-provoking question indeed! So you’re a philosopher as well as a nurse and a shepherdess!”
“Hardly that! It shouldn’t take a philosopher to answer such simple questions. I’m only trying to live by the principles I was taught. There’s a big difference in knowing spiritual things and living them. And for the first time in my life, I’m now trying, with God’s help, to live them.”
“It seems none too simple to me.”
“It’s not easy, that is true! Very difficult in fact. But simple—yes.”
She smiled. “The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.”
“Is that from the Bible?”
“Yes. It just came back into my mind. My grandfather used to read to me from the Bible a great deal—although with as thick a Scots tongue as you could imagine! But those words are a promise—when I go to Donachie, and when I go forward into whatever He has for me, God will be with me.”
“How can you be so certain?”
Before Jamie could answer, Andrew, who had been foraging about the field, trotted up to them. With a merry grin he held his hands out to Jamie. They were full of torn bits of flowers mixed with grass and weeds.
“Fowers for Mamie!”
“Oh, Andrew!” she cried with such effusive thanks that the bouquet might have come from one of London’s finest shops. “It’s beautiful! Thank you!”
Content with the end of one project, Andrew then announced that he was hungry.
His father rose, looked about for a reasonably dry location, and, when found, they spread the cloth over the grass and Jamie opened the basket.
“I’m afraid I should have gone back for more,” Jamie said.
“It looks fine,” said Graystone. “Cook always prepares more than is necessary.”
As they ate Jamie reflected on the question which had preceded Andrew’s interruption. At length she brought up the threads of the discussion again.
“You asked how I could be certain of God’s provision,” she said.
“Yes. How can you know it isn’t all just a bunch of rubbish the priests have concocted to preserve their religious system?”
Jamie reached out and picked up Andrew’s bouquet.
“This is how I can be certain,” she said. Then she laid her hand on Andrew’s head. “And this also. And the burn there, the mountain, these meadows, the sky, the sheep—and what I feel in my own heart. I have been in low places, Mr. Graystone, but He has never failed to bring me out and fill my life with rich blessings such as these. The evidences of His life and creation are all around us and inside us. If we just open our eyes to it, suddenly you realize one would have to be blind—physically and emotionally and spiritually—not to see His presence literally everywhere. And as for the confidence that He will provide, will lead me, will guide my steps? I suppose it’s past experiences in my own life that verify that His promises are true and can be believed. One of my favorite proverbs goes, ‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean upon your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct your paths.’ I believe that. I really believe it! And I’m trying to live by it, difficult as it is.”
“And what if one hasn’t had such past experiences as you speak of, that demonstrate God’s working?”
“Everyone has had them,” she replied. “The workings of God’s hand are not only all about us in the world, they are all about us within the circumstances and experiences of our lives. Most people just don’t have sense enough to know to whom to attribute such working. God’s ways are often silent, and so huge they become invisible to our limited sight.”
Here a smile played upon Graystone’s lips. There was even a hint of a twinkle in his eye. Seeing it, Jamie realized how rarely she had seen her employer smile, and decided that he would have a nice smile if he once got into the practice of using it more often. Then suddenly she realized the smile was directed at her, and at the implication of what she had said.
“Oh, Mr. Graystone! I didna—that is, I did not mean you!” she stammered.
“You need not apologize,” he replied, still amused. “My good sense has never stood me in particularly good stead. So you may well be right. We both know how blind I was for so long about my son here. So there may well be other things, spiritual truths, as you say, that I have been equally blind to. I’ll have to give the matter some thought.”
By this time Andrew had wriggled out of Jamie’s lap where he had been sitting and had again urged his two companions into activity. Edward walked to a rise on the hill, scouting the way to the meadow they had been going to seek, when he noticed that the clouds from atop Donachie had rolled toward them across the springtime sky as they had sat eating their lunch. By the time he reached Jamie and Andrew back near the edge of the burn, a definite downpour threatened.
“We had better get back,” he said. “And we haven’t a moment to lose. These springtime rains can come upon you suddenly. And we don’t want a soaking!”
Quickly they gathered the things. Jamie picked up the basket and Edward caught up Andrew, to the boy’s squeals of rapture, and hoisted him high onto his shoulders, and off they went at as rapid a pace as they could manage. However, halfway through a shortcut by way of the orchard, huge drops of the imminent downpour began to fall. Breaking into a run, Jamie was hard pressed to match the long strides of Andrew’s father, even with the boy still clutched tightly on top of his head.
No speed could have avoided the predicted soaking. Dripping from head to foot, their clothes hanging from their bodies fully drenched, they burst through the front doors of the house, laughing from the exhilarating run, even Graystone himself—to the amazement of the astonished staff—lending his booming voice to the merriment.
Hardly looking beyond the foyer itself, they stood shaking the water from their clothes, still jubilant over their comically imprudent adventure, when Jamie glanced up to see three figures approaching.
One was Janell, the parlor maid, who had received the guests upon their arrival. The other two were Candice and Lady Montrose.
30
Candice Montrose
Immediately Jamie sobered, feeling unaccountably like a naughty schoolgirl caught red-handed by the headmistress.
Graystone was indeed just as surprised, but not in the least disconcerted.
“Why, Lady Montrose—Candice!” he said as graciously as the laird of a grand estate should. “What a surprise!” He laughed. “Caught by the rain, as you can see!”
“We have obviously come at a bad time,” said Lady Montrose, with the merest hint of patronizing superiority in her tone, peering down her long, sharp nose at him, then glancing toward his wet entourage. Jamie’s wet straight hair hung down from atop her head and ran wildly in every direction. Lady Montrose did, in fact, look the very picture of the scolding school-mother.
“Not at all!” he replied jovially, taki
ng no note of her condescending stance which implied, This is hardly behavior fitting for a gentleman! “We were out flower hunting and were foiled by the downpour!”
“Flower hunting?” queried Candice Montrose, and though her nose was much shapelier than her mother’s, the impact of her eyes as they stared down from behind it gave much the same effect.
“Yes, we were looking for the first flowers of spring. And we found them, didn’t we, Andrew?”
Andrew’s wet head nodded vigorously. “Yes, Papa. Fowers for Mamie!”
“What a quaint notion,” said Candice, hesitating slightly over the choice of the word quaint. “I didn’t think you went in for such things.”
“Actually, it was Miss MacLeod’s idea.”
“Ah, I might have known,” said Candice, casting a cool glance for the first time in Jamie’s direction.
Jamie smiled wanly, her hair dripping in her face, beginning to shiver from the wet and cold.
“We really must change out of these things,” said Graystone. “You will stay for tea, won’t you? I will join you directly.”
“Thank you,” said Candice, her voice growing perceptibly sweeter. “How very kind of you, Edward.”
“Janell, show our guests to the east parlor, and see that Cameron serves them tea.”
———
An hour and a half later the Montrose carriage pulled away from the house. The two women inside had had a very interesting afternoon, even if it had not been all they had hoped for, or expected.
At twenty-five, Candice Montrose was well on her way to spinsterhood. The problem was not a lack of suitors—there had always been an abundance of those, for she was indeed an attractive young lady. The major hindrance to a successful match had been her parents, chiefly her mother. It seemed the young men Candice herself was drawn to were too far beneath the station Lady Montrose aspired for her daughter. What in Candice’s nature attracted her to men of “low breeding” was a question which troubled her mother. No one at Montrose, however, dared broach the subject.
Jamie MacLeod Page 23
